Scenes De La Vie Boheme
by Pyrate Rose
Summary: A collection of oneshots written for SpeedRent. Each a completely different idea. T for some swearing.
1. He Would Never Know

_(A/N: Hello all! It's been awhile hasn't it? Well, I've recently joined SpeedRent, and so I've gotten into the one-shot thing...not to mention, I've become discouraged on Daddy Mark because of the Mary Sue accusations. So here I am with a whole new deal. Each chapter is a oneshot I've written for SpeedRent...which is awesome...check it out.)_

_D.C: I RENT_

Chapter One:  
He Would Never Know  
Challenge prompt: _poor_

"There are times when we're dirt broke and hungry and freezing, and I ask myself, 'why the hell am I still living here?'. And then they call, and I remember." Mark said, crossing the room to join Roger at the long metal table where the coffee sat. Roger nodded and acknowledged his friend's joke with a small smirk, but inside he was screaming.

Mark had no idea what being cold and hungry was like. He had grown up with a mom and a dad who both had steady jobs. He'd had an older sister and a house with a picket fence and a cute little dog to play with. He'd had money for new clothes every school year and nice Sunday dinners every week with his whole family.

Mark had never had to watch his mother squander away his lunch money on booze and cigarettes. Mark never had to go to school year after year with the same duct-taped tennis shoes because his mother had decided she needed cocaine more than her son needed something to wear besides the paper-thin, worn out t-shirts and socks and underwear he'd had for nearly six years.

Mark's family was loving and caring. His father would have put the president on hold to hear the story of his son's homerun down at the neighborhood ball field that day. His mother had cookies and milk on the table when Cindy and Mark arrived home from school each day.

Roger's father was an abusive man who would come and go as he pleased. Whenever his father was gone, Roger's mother would replace him with stranger after stranger in order to support her habits.

Oh no, Mark would never know what it was really like to be dirt broke, hungry and freezing. And, Roger guessed as his eye caught sight of Mimi's note on the window of the loft, he probably never would.


	2. There's Only Us

_(A/N: This is one of my favorites. Enjoy!)_

Chapter Two  
There's Only Us  
Challenge Prompt:_ Write a Mark and Collins fic_

"Well boy," Collins said dropping onto the couch. "Looks like it's just me and you from now on." Mark sighed and nodded, taking a seat next to his friend.

"I just can't believe he's gone...I mean, I knew he'd be going for awhile now, but I guess the reality of it is finally sinking in. It's going to be so...different...around here without him." Mark said thoughtfully as he loosened the tie from around his neck.

"No guitar chords coming out of his room. Nobody to tease you with." Collins said with a sad smirk.

"Nobody to bother about taking his AZT...No one to make coffee for in the morning." Mark added with half of a laugh. Collins nodded and clapped his hand down on Mark's shoulder.

"Well, at least we know he's happy, right?" Mark nodded and bit his lip before turning away from Collins.

"Of course he's happy..." he began quite bitterly. "He's with Mimi, isn't he?"

"What, are you jealous?"

"I don't know...yeah, I guess...a little." Mark struggled as he pulled off his suit jacket and draped it over a chair. "And angry...that he could just leave me here. Alone."

"Well, he couldn't very well take you with him." Collins replied logically. "That's illegal in this state."

"Dammit, I know that! It just---hurts. That he's not coming back."

"I understand, boy. But can you try to be happy for him? You were crying pretty hard back at the church."

"I am trying. You have no idea how hard I'm trying. But to be here in this loft without him---" Mark trailed off. "There's just so much here that we had together. Memories...you know?"

"Marky, you sound like you're in love with him or something." Collins teased.

"No! Collins stop it! Of course I'm not in love with him. He was like my brother."

"But you did love him?"

"He was my best friend since grade school Of course I loved him."

"Well, it's not like you're never going to see him again. You can go down there and talk to him whenever you want."

"I know...but...I---ah...whatever." Mark sighed. "I guess we should start packing up his stuff, huh?"

"Yeah. I guess." Collins agreed. "You know, he's lucky he's got such great friends."

"Well," Mark laughed. "I told him this was the only gift he was getting from me. I can't afford vacuum cleaners and blenders and

God only knows what other shit was on that list. Although I'd gladly give them my mother's hotplate."

"Come on, Mark." Collins laughed as he started throwing Roger's notebooks into the box in front of him. "Let's get a move on. Roger and Mimi will be back from the hotel tomorrow morning. We should have these all moved downstairs before then." Mark nodded and started packing Roger's clothes.

"I still can't believe he got married. I _never_ thought Roger Davis would settle down."


	3. What My Reflection Shows

_(A/N: This one's good too. Roger's POV journal/letter to Mark.)_

Chapter Three  
What My Reflection Shows  
Challenge Prompt:_ A first person narrative with no dialogue, reflecting on love, loss and friendship._

9 August 1994

The months after that Christmas we all came back together passed before our eyes like one of Mark's short films. Each shot a moment in time we couldn't get back to relive, but a moment in time that would be remembered forever. That's the way it goes when time is short. Mimi died in March, Collins in November. They were both buried on either side of Angel. On her right; her lover. On her left; her best friend. My health's been slipping away, more quickly after Mimi died. I can feel my life slipping away, no matter how hard I grope for it. It's like trying to hold onto water. I've always been the strongest in body, but my mind, heart and soul are no doubt the weakest of anyone's. Collins had the mind covered, that's for sure. The man was the most intelligent person alive. Anyone who could become a college philosophy professor had to be. Especially to be an openly gay, AIDS-infected professor in a world of stereotypes, prejudice and criticism. I never got to tell him how much I respected and looked up to him.

As for the heart--Angel could love even the most ignorant, hateful person. She taught us all to be that way. Without her influence I never would have given Mimi a chance. You know, most wannabe rock stars would never admit in a million years to being friends with a drag queen, but for some reason, I have no problem with it. Angel taught me to feel again; whether it was love or pain or whatever. She taught me that everyone's life is worth living. And for that, I thank her.

And the soul...Mimi, my sweet little Mimi. She was so passionate about everything she did. Her dancing, her life...me...No one ever loved me the way she did. She would have done anything to save me from myself.

I guess you could say Mark fits under that category as well. Poor Mark. Some days I wonder who has it worse; me or him. He's fated to spend the rest of his life watching his friends disappear one by one by one. Destined to witness this terrible disease kill off the people he loves. At least I have the assurance of death and the end of my suffering in the near future. Mark, on the other hand, has no choice. He must be the one to survive. He must go on living in this half-life he stumbles around in everyday. His body's become an empty shell, incapable of feeling. It's not that he doesn't want to feel, he's just become so used to the feelings of loss that he's become immune to it or something. I know it's kind of gruesome to think of, but I realize my days are getting down there. If I wake up tomorrow it will be a miracle. I guess you could say this is my goodbye. Mark knows where I keep this journal. So it won't be long before my feelings are known.

So, to Mark, I leave my only possession; my guitar. I know you don't know how to play it, but I know you'll take care of it. My heart and soul have been etched into the wood and strings of that instrument. You know what it means to me. It's helped me get through the most difficult times of my life, but not so much as you have. It never promised me that things would be alright after April, then Mimi died. It never had to watch me kick and scream my way through six months of withdrawal or deal with the blows I dealt you when I got desperate enough for a hit. But you never let me down. You kept me from killing myself, be it through drugs or suicide. That guitar never loved me like you did, Mark, but nonetheless, I leave it to you. That along with my thanks. My true, heartfelt thanks for everything you've ever done for me. You have been more than a friend to me; you were my brother. And the greatest one I could have ever asked for.

I know I could never say this out loud, but I'm a writer, man, and words come easier to me when I use a pen and paper than when I use my big mouth. So thanks. I love you, bro. I'll say hi to Angel, Mimi and Collins for you when I get there. Oh and by the way---promise you won't bury me in some ugly suit or anything like that. I don't wanna look like I croaked on my way to a business meeting or while I was taking a stroll down Wall Street.

Thanks again, Love always,

--Roger


	4. No Such Thing As Forgiveness

Chapter Four

"No Such Thing As Forgiveness"

Challenge Prompt: prison

"Roger, you've got to do this-- he's your father for Christ's sake!" Mark reasoned, pulling on his friend's leather jacket. Roger groaned and turned away again, retreating another five steps and shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Mark, I--I can't." he insisted. "Let's--let's just go home, okay? Can we do that?" Roger pleaded.

"Rog, he's dying. His last request was to ask his son for forgiveness. Now, I'm not saying you should forgive him, but at least go in there and say goodbye." Mark said. "He is your father."

"My father?" Roger scoffed loudly. "My _father_! Need I remind you, _Marcus_, that Alfred Davis left my mother and me alone, poor and homeless when I was only five years old?" he shouted. "My _father_ hasn't given a rat's ass whether I live or die for the last twenty-fucking- years and _now_ he wants to have a big happy fucking reunion like nothing ever happened? Fuck that!" Roger spat. "Fuck him!"

"Roger, who knows how he could have changed by now? Maybe he really is sorry." Mark said. "I mean, like you said, it's been twenty years. A lot can happen in two decades, Rog." he looked up at Roger and put his hand on his arm to steer him back towards the door. "Give him one more chance." Roger let out his breath in a long, loud hiss and rested his head on the stone wall of New York City's Edgecombe Correctional Facility, where his father was imprisoned for drug possession and solicitation.

"Fine." Roger sighed. Mark nodded proudly and led the way inside the front door.

"Hi," Mark said to the guard. "Uh--we're here to see a Mr. Alfred Davis."

"And you are?"

"His--uh--son." Mark replied before clumsily correcting himself. "Er--well--I'm not his son, he's-- his... son." he said, indicating Roger who stood awkwardly at his side, nervously fidgeting and rocking back and forth on his feet. The guard looked skeptically from Mark to Roger before nodding.

"Follow me." Mark and Roger exchanged glances and obeyed the guard, who led them down a long hallway to a door at the very end. Mark noticed Roger chewing determinedly at his bottom lip as the guard searched his keyring for the correct key. When he found it, he opened the door and grunted, "In here." Mark began to move forward, but caught Roger standing stone still outside the door, ready to turn and run. Mark sighed in exasperation.

"Roger! Come on!" he whispered harshly. Roger gave a little pout and moved his mouth as if he was attempting to protest but was unable to make even the smallest noise. Mark had never seen Roger so scared in all the time he had known him. "Rog--"

"Shut up, Mark. I'm coming." Roger said. The guard showed them inside and shut the door behind them.

"Mr.Davis?" Mark asked tentatively to the man who sat in a chair facing the window; his back was to them. The man stood upon hearing Mark's voice and turned around, a look of disbelief on his face that slowly turned to a sad smile when he saw his son standing behind the man who had addressed him.

"R-Roger?" the man asked. Roger merely nodded in a jerky, almost robotic motion. Awkwardly, the man began to raise his arms to offer his son a hug, then quickly dropped them back to his sides. "Roger--son---Look, I--" he started, unable to decide what to say or how to say it. "Come here and sit down, please." he said sincerely. Roger didn't even blink. Mark sighed and gave him a little shove towards the chair the man had offered. Roger hesitantly sat down.

"I--I'll go and leave you two a--" Mark began.

"N-n-no. Mark--?" Roger interrupted with a pitiful whimper.

"Or I can stay." Mark said, sitting down next to his terrified friend.

"Look, Roger I--" Mr. Davis sighed. "I'm sorry. For everything." he said simply."For everything I did, and, more importantly, everything I _didn't_ do." Roger nodded again and nervously rubbed his hands together. "I've made a lot of mistakes in my life...I meana_ lot_ of mistakes. I treated your mother like shit. I abandoned you. I got messed up with a lot of the wrong people...I guess what I'm trying to say is--what I did was wrong. Terribly wrong. Awful and horrible. You were such a wonderful little boy. You deserved so much better. So much more than I could have possibly given you at that point in my life. I left because I knew you'd be better off without me. Both of you." he waited for Roger to respond, when he didn't, Mr. Davis continued. "I asked you here to tell you I am so incredibly sorry, and I love you so much, Roger. I couldn't be prouder of---"

"Proud?" Roger muttered. "Proud? You--you don't even know me!"

"Roger, I--" Mr. Davis sputtered at the sudden outburst.

"Proud of the fact that I'm an ex-junkie? Proud that I fucked my life up the same way you did? Proud that I'm dying because of one little fucking mistake?" Roger was on his feet now, his rage taking over.

"Dying? Roger---"

"Yes. Dying." Roger replied. "I have AIDS. I'm going to be dead before I reach the age of thirty more than likely. I've lost two of my best friends to the goddamn thing, not to mention the girlfriend who gave it to me who slit her fucking wrists in the bathroom before the disease could take her, or the beautiful girl I buried three weeks ago because her body gave up on her too." Mr. Davis looked gaunt, and scared as Roger had moments earlier. "All my life all anyone has ever done is abandon me. They all disappear in the end. So, you wanted me to come here and forgive you for all the shit you've put me through the last twenty-five years? You want to go to your grave knowing your only son doesn't harbor any resentment, right? Well guess what, Dad? There's no such thing as forgiveness. If I've learned anything in my life, it's that. Nobody can be forgiven.

Life isn't forgiving. I shared a needle one time--made one mistake--and did life forgive me for that? No. My life is over because life won't forgive me. My little Mimi, the love of my life, was raped at the age of thirteen---thirteen fucking years old! And did life forgive her for that? No. She died when she was twenty-one because life punished her for the wrongs of the man who took her innocence and her life in one fucking swipe. Or Angel--the most loving person anyone could ever meet. He'd make even the most depressed person happy again. He's gone now because life couldn't forgive him for falling in love with another guy. Oh no. Life is too busy forgiving rapists, murderers, villains, liars and cheaters---giving all of them long, full lives---to forgive those who actually deserve it. So you know what, Dad. I can't forgive you. I'm sorry, but I can't."

With that, Roger stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Mark and Mr. Davis sat in silence for a moment before quietly and awkwardly saying goodbye.


	5. Tied To His Memories

Chapter Five

"Tied To His Memories"

Challenge Prompt: Tie

Roger looked at himself in the mirror of the church bathroom and sighed as he straightened his tie. Every occasion he'd worn a tie before this had been a bad experience for him. Maybe that's why he'd been so reluctant to put one on that morning. He ran his fingers through his hair and bit his lip in thought.

He glanced over at a chair and saw his five year old self, sitting there, pulling on the tie around his neck.  
"You're too old to wear those clip-on ties now, Roger." His mom told him, her voice shaky with tears. Her husband, Roger's father, had died in a car accident a week earlier. Roger wasn't sure what was going on, but he didn't like seeing his mom cry like she'd been doing all morning.

"Do I have to wear this?" he asked, pulling at the tie. "It's too tight and I can't breathe." he dragged in a labored breath for emphasis.

"Oh, stop it now." she said, slapping his hand away. "Look at you. All grown up. Your daddy would be so proud." she hugged her son to her and started sobbing again.

"Mommy, don't cry. Dad's okay. You said so last night. You said he was an angel now." Roger reminded her. "He gets to play with God and have a pair of wings and everything."

"Oh, Roger...honey..." Roger was good the rest of the day, but when they got home that night, he took the tie off and buried it in the trashcan under a few layers of garbage. He laughed secretly at the breakfast table the next morning as he watched the garbage truck out the window and insisted a few months later that he'd lost it when his mother couldn't find it for the Christmas card pictures.

The next bad tie experience was at the age of twelve. His mother's wedding. Roger had willingly put the tie on that morning, but afterwards had locked himself in the bathroom of the church, refusing to come out. The door was taken off its hinges after three hours' begging on his mother's part, and the man who was marrying her dragged him by the arm to the alter, but only after slapping him around a bit in the basement.

"You snot-nosed little bastard." he sneered. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

"No! You aren't my father and you're never going to be!" Roger yelled back. His comment was replied to with a slap to the face.

"You think your little stunt up there made any difference?" he asked. "Do you, you little fuck?" Roger knew better than to talk back now. He stood erect, staring the man in the face and biting his lip so as not to cry. He would never let this man win. "The only thing it did was piss me off, and that, my friend, is not a good thing for you." he grabbed the end of Roger's tie and pulled him to him, bringing Roger's face a mere inches from his own. "I'm not going anywhere now. You. Are. Mine." he whispered. His hot breath smelled of whiskey and Marlboros, causing Roger to gag a little. "You have no idea what I can do to you. But just you wait--oh just wait. You'll see boy. You'll see." he warned, letting him go and pushing him towards the stairs. Roger was still shaking when he got to his bedroom after the reception. By the next year, he'd run away a total of twenty-four times. At age fourteen he was living full time with Mark Cohen's family in the house two blocks down. Roger shook his head to free himself of the memory and it was replaced by a worse one.

He could barely remember April's funeral. He'd been high as a kite that day; a little drunk too. Mark had dragged him out of bed, dressed him and combed his hair before walking him down to the church. He could remember glaring at the wooden coffin in front of him and hating April with a fierce passion. She had killed herself. She was killing him. He left the sermon early, but unbeknownst to Mark or Collins or anyone else, he'd gone back that night, sober, to pay his respects to the first woman he'd ever really loved.

Now, though, as he stood there staring at himself with intensity, listening to the guests gathering outside the door, he got ready to go to the alter and wait to watch Mimi walk down the aisle to him. They had made a spontaneous desicion to get married two weeks after Christmas Eve. The night she'd almost died made him realize just how fragile time was, and he proposed on New Year's Eve. They promised to spend the rest of their short lives together, through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, till death do they part...


	6. Ring Pops

""

"I can't believe you still watch this show." Mark said, taking a seat on the floor. "Only babies watch Barney, Maureen." the girl turned and glared at him.

"Shut up, four eyes." she said, hitting him where it hurt. Mark had only just gotten glasses a week earlier, and was very sensitive to the teasing he got from wearing them.

"You're just mad 'cause you know I'm right. Baby." he jabbed.

"Am not!" she countered.

"Are too!" Mark said, sticking out his tongue. "You're mad 'cause you're a baby and I'm not."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Put a muzzle on it, will you!" Mark's older sister, Cindy said from the couch where she was talking with one of her friends from the junior high. "Sorry. I got stuck watching my baby brother and the little neighbor girl until Mom gets home from grocery shopping."

"I'm not a baby, Cindy!" Mark insisted. "I'm six now. Maureen's the baby. She's only five still."

"Whatever." Cindy said before going back to her phone conversation.

"Wanna do something fun, Marky?" Maureen asked.

"If we don't have to watch this dumb show."

"Me an' Roger's auntie got married this weekend."

"Yeah, so?" Mark asked.

"It was fun. There was a cake, and dancing and lots of people."

"I thought we were gonna do something fun. I've been to a wedding. You have to sit in church for a million years. They aren't _that_ fun. What do you want to do?"

"Let's get married!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"Get married? Ew." Mark said. "You have cooties."

"Fine then. When Roger comes over after his nap, you can marry him and I'll be the Rabbit."

"Don't you know anything, Maureen?" Mark said with a snobby tone. "It isn't a Rabbit, it's a _Rabbi_. And besides, only _girls_ can marry boys."

"Nuh uh." Maureen said.

"Yeah huh." Mark argued.

"Shut up!" Cindy yelled.

"Roger's nice. I'd marry him." Maureen said matter-of-factly.

"You can't marry him. He's your cousin." Mark said.

"So?" Maureen asked haughtily.

"So, cousins can't marry cousins. It's against the law."

"Says who?"

"Says God."

"Well fine. I didn't want to marry him anyway. Boys have cooties."

"No we don't!"

"Yes you do!"

"BE QUIET!" The room went quiet except for the cheesy cheers from the children on television as Barney told them all what fun they were going to have that day. The door creaked open and a little boy stuck his head in.

"Hi guys." he said. "Hi Cindy, can Mark come out and play?"

"If you take it outside." she said, desperate to get rid of them.

"Okay." Roger shrugged. Mark got up and followed him into the backyard and Maureen rushed to join them, running as they tried to leave her behind.

"Guys! Wait for me!"

"Roger," Mark asked. "Can boys marry boys? Maureen thinks they can, but I say they can't. You're seven, so you're almost a grown-up. Who's right?"

"I think they can." Roger said wisely. "Besides, girls are icky. I'd rather marry a boy."

"See? I told you so." Maureen said, sticking out her tongue at Mark. "_Now_ can we have a wedding?" she said eagerly, grabbing both of the boys by the hand and dragging them to the swing set.

"If Mark and me get married then can we go throw rocks at cars after?" Roger asked.

"Whatever. It can be your honeymoon." Maureen said, clearly uninterested in the games that boys played. "Didn't you get a timeout last time you did that?" she added.

"Yeah. And my dad hit me with his belt. It hurt when he was hittin' me, but you should see the cool bruises on my butt!" he said enthusiastically.

"Gross." Maureen said, wrinkling up her nose.

"Can we get this over with, Maureen?" Mark asked, kicking at the grass with his scuffed up shoe.

"Fine. Mark you can be the bright and Roger can be the groomed." she said, grabbing them and moving them to face each other by the swings. "I'll get flowers." she announced, running over to Mrs. Cohen's garden and plucking some gladiolas to hand to Mark.

"What about the ring?" Mark asked.

"Oh yeah!" she remembered. "I'll be right back!" and with that, she rushed back into the house and came back out with two small, foil packages, handing one to each of them. "My mommy bought these for me to share with you, Mark. They're called Ring Pops. But you can't eat them 'til after the wedding, kay?" she instructed. Roger looked with longing at the candy ring in his hand, but obeyed, knowing that his cousin's wrath was much worse than waiting five minutes to eat the candy. He'd seen her at Christmas when she didn't get the microphone and play stage she wanted.

When everything was just the way Maureen wanted it, including collecting stuffed animals, dolls and a disgruntled Cindy, to watch, she stood in front of the "audience" and began.

"Friends, dolls and stuffed aminals of Scarsdale, we are here to watch these boys get married. Roger, do you take Mark to be your awfully wetted bright?"

"Yeah, whatever." Roger said, yearning for the taste of the blue raspberry sucker in his hand.

"No! you have to say 'I do'." Maureen insisted.

"Fine. I do." Roger obliged.

"And Mark, do you take Roger to be your awfully wetted groomed?"

"I do." Mark mumbled.

"Then by the powers vested in me. I now announce you bright and groomed." she said proudly. "Roger, you can kiss your bright!"

"EWW!" both boys said at once.

"But you have to! It's part of getting married!"

"No! That's gross!" Roger insisted.

"Do it or you can't eat your Ring Pops!" she warned. Roger glanced down at the sucker in his hand. Was kissing another boy worth it? He decided, yes, it was.

"Fine." he said. And with that he leaned over and kissed Mark on the lips.

"I remember that too well for my own good." Mark said, snuggling closer to Roger on the couch.

"I can't say you're alone on that one." Roger replied with a grin. The two leaned in and kissed softly, Mark's hand trailing up Roger's arm to his cheek where it stopped.

"If that wasn't a sign of things to come--" Mark laughed when they pulled away from each other.

"I love you." Roger said.

"More than candy?" Mark asked, raising an eyebrow.

"More than anything."

"Now I know you mean it."

"Oh shut up. You always knew I loved you."

"I guess so." Mark smiled, pressing his lips to Roger's once again.

"Hey Mark?" Roger asked.

"Yeah?"

"Do we have any Ring Pops?"


End file.
